“We may have some answers, but I cannot be certain that we will share them with you.”
“Is the Marquess of Blackraven Anne’s brother?” Sebastian said.
“No,” Athena said. “He is not.”
“But they are related?” he insisted.
Minerva narrowed her eyes at him. “Why should it matter?”
“Because if we are to discover what the villains are looking for I need to understand what Anne’s connection is to Winifred Elliott and how this house came to be in the possession of the Ravenner family,” he said. “I will not be put off. You stated yourself that you brought me here to protect her… Help me do that by giving me the answers I need.”
Athena began to wring her hands again. To Minerva, she uttered in a stage whisper, “I think we should tell him!”
“I don’t know, Athena. We vowed to keep it a secret in order to protect her.”
“But what if that is the best way to protect her?” Athena asked again. “I’ve never felt comfortable with keeping the secret from Anne. She has a right to know who she is!”
Minerva placed her tea cup back on the tea tray and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Very well, Lord Strong. We will tell you everything you need to know, but Anne should be here for this. If we’re going to reveal these secrets, we intend to only reveal them once.”
At that precise moment, Anne entered. She glanced at him, blushed, and quickly looked away.
“Your aunts have something to say, Anne… and I think perhaps you should sit before they speak. I imagine this information will be quite shocking,” he said.
“Anne was not a foundling. Not at all. But she is not Ambrose’s sister…. she is our sister,” Athena said softly. “But perhaps we should start at the beginning?”
Minerva nodded, took a steadying breath and then began to speak. “In 1723, Winifred Elliott bore a child, a girl. When she was arrested one year later and accused of witchcraft, one of her loyal servants took the babe and fled to Ravenner Abbey to our grandmother who was a loyal and true friend to Winifred. Your grandmother, Anne, was a ward to our family… and she married an Everleigh. That is where your name came from. As for ownership of the property, it was not entailed in anyway, so it passed to your grandmother. Unfortunately she did not live to see it. She died in a fire when your mother was young.”
Anne was perched on the edge of her chair, a deep frown furrowed her brow. “And my father was your father?”
Athena gave a gallic shrug. “Our father and your mother were lovers for many years. She lived in a small cottage on the estate and by all rights was very happy there. But there was another fire.”
At that, Anne rose from her chair and paced the room. “How old was I?”
“Not quite two years old,” Minerva answered.
“And then he took me to Ravenner Abbey and forced his wife to raise his by blow?” she demanded. “How cruel can one man be?”
“It wasn’t like that… not at all. Our mother and father had a very cavalier attitude toward fidelity. Primarily because they didn’t like one another very much. It was an arranged marriage,” Minerva explained. “They were quite relaxed in their attitudes and were very understanding about one another’s lovers. But we had reason to believe that the fires that claimed your grandmother and your mother were not simply unfortunate accidents, but magical attacks.”
“Magical attacks?” Sebastian asked, recalling the warning from the crone at the church. She’d said much the same thing. “What precisely does that mean?”
Minerva sighed. “The people who plotted against Winifred, who brought about he execution, also engineered these events!”
Anne threw up her hands. “That is impossible. They would have been positively ancient by the time either of those events occurred, if they even managed to survive to that time!”
Sebastian thought about the strange tale he’d been told, about curses and immortality and the taking of another’s body. Could it possibly be true?
Athena began wringing her hands again and ducked her head as she looked away. But Minerva met his gaze directly, almost accusingly. “Winifred cursed her accusers, Lord Strong, but you are already aware of that.”
“I was given information today, but I can hardly credit it,” he said. “It all seems impossibly farfetched—the deluded ramblings of an old woman.”
“And are we also deluded old women?” Athena demanded.
“You are not old,” he snapped.
“Stop it! All of you!” Anne practically shouted. To Athena and Minerva, she continued, “You have both lied to me for the entirety of my life. Now you spin tales that are beyond comprehension and ask for blind faith in the truth of them! This is all nonsense. It’s a series of unfortunate events for whom people are looking for someone to fault for it. Dark magic is simply where they’ve elected to lay the blame out of superstition and folklore!”
Minerva cocked her head. “And when you saw Winifred in your mirror, was that superstition and folklore, sister?”
Anne paled, all the color draining from her face as she sank heavily onto one of the nearby chairs. “How did you know?”
“We cannot see her,” Athena said. “But we know that she is here. But she is not alone. There are other forces, other entities who come here, but she helps to protect us, dear. She’s quite benevolent and so very pleased that her blood once again resides in this house.”
Her blood. If any of the strange tale that had been spun were true, and if others learned of Anne’s parentage, then she would be in unspeakable danger. Sebastian spoke firmly, “For now, I think we need to continue the ruse that Anne was simply a ward of your family… I do not believe this nonsense, but others do, and that makes them dangerous. If it were to be learned that Anne was a descendant of Winifred, she would be targeted.”
“Absolutely,” Minerva agreed. “We are not unaware, Lord Strong, of the Squire’s role in all of this, or of Elizabeth’s. That is the very reason that we cultivated a friendship with them. It’s also one of the reasons why we cast a love spell on him. He is enamored of Anne, or was. Spells such as this require frequent renewal and tending, and we have been lax about that. Perhaps when we go to Alcott Hall tonight, we should amend that.”
He was hesitant to agree to them casting a spell to make another man fall in love with Anne. He was also hesitant to examine the reason for his reluctance. So he simply nodded. “You must do as you think is best.”
When he turned to Anne, he realized it was the wrong answer. She looked as if he’d just offered her to the Squire on a silver platter.
“I need to tend the animals,” she said and rose to her feet. The sound of the door slamming behind her as she headed toward the barn reverberated throughout the house.
“You should go after her,” Athena informed him. “She feels slighted by your apparent disregard.”
“I’d rather her feel slighted and continue to live,” he said.
“Of course, you would,” Minerva answered. “I know you have questions, my lord, about whether or not what you feel for Anne is genuine or whether or not it is the product of a spell we cast. The answer is simply that it is both.”
“Once again, Lady Minerva, I must ask you to explain yourself,” he said with a resigned sigh. There was no guarantee that her explanation would offer any real enlightenment as they both frequently talked in circles.
“We cast a spell to draw Anne’s true love and soul mate to her. It was never directed specifically at you, but only that the man who was meant for her would find her here… and then you came. And I must say, it was much better than we could have ever hoped for,” Athena said. The level of glee of in her voice might have been infectious were his mind not so heavily burdened.
“So you think I am meant for Anne? That I am her soul mate?” he demanded.
Minerva shrugged. “It hardly matters at this point what we think, Lord Strong. It only matters what you and Anne think… or feel.”
Sebastian conside
red his options. If he believed in their magic, what they had done still did not violate his free will, but had rather offered fate a helping hand. Would Anne agree or would she feel even more betrayed by them?
“Go after her,” Athena urged again. “Do not let pride, either hers or yours, get in the way.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sebastian left the house and strode purposefully toward the barn. From the moment he’d arrived at Evenwold, he’d been drawn to her. Anne sparked feelings in him that no woman ever had. It wasn’t simply that he desired her, or even that he admired her. He felt protective and proprietary. In short, from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d simply thought of her as his, even when he’d been reluctant to admit it.
He was tired of hiding that, tired of pretending that whatever was between them was ordinary. It was anything but, and he’d would prove that to her if it took his last breath.
Entering the barn, he saw her standing at a stall near the back of the small building, stroking the graying nose of an ancient workhorse that had probably not done any real work in a decade. The beast was undoubtedly more of a pet than anything else at this point.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said. “Not after what happened.”
“It was an isolated incident,” she protested, never looking away from the limpid and adoring gaze of the horse. “I doubt very seriously that whoever it was will return to the barn. They were just as frightened at being discovered as I was to discover them here. That is why they fled.”
“They are more frightened of the Vicar and the Squire than they are of you. If they are told to return here, they will. And given what we’ve just learned… Anne if even one small part of that is true, your life could be in danger,” he protested.
“This was a huge mistake. I should never have asked Ambrose for assistance.”
“As a matter of fact, you didn’t! Your letter was intercepted. How he knew you needed assistance is beyond me… but in my acquaintance with him, he has often known things that he could not or should not have. I have simply learned to trust his judgement. Perhaps you should, as well.”
“How so?”
Sebastian stepped deeper into the barn, until they were less than an arm’s length from one another. “He trusted me to keep you safe…and so should you.”
“Is that why you suggested letting Athena and Minerva cast a lovespell on the Squire? To keep me safe?”
“Yes,” he said. Sebastian knew that if he didn’t say something to her of his feelings, that if he didn’t convince her of the depth of emotion that he felt and that it wasn’t simply part of some insane love spell cast by the other women of the house, he would lose her forever. “I don’t like it. In fact the very idea of it infuriates me… in part because I feel like the things I’m now considering to be a part of my reality could very well land me in Bedlam, and in part because I deeply and intensely dislike the idea of any man holding you in such regard…any man other than myself, that is.”
“They cast a spell upon you, Lord Strong,” she replied. There was no quaver to her voice, no hint of emotion. But the hurt and disappointment was clearly evident in her dark gaze. “I have never engineered such depth of feeling in any man. I cannot imagine that it would be otherwise for you. I will ask Athena and Minerva to counter the spell and release you from it. I also release you from any duties you may feel you have here at Evenwold. We will handle these problems on our own, as was my intent to start.”
“Then I hope you have the ability to remove me bodily from your property, for that is the only way I will leave it! And as for the spell that your sisters cast, they cast a spell, Anne, to draw to you the man you were meant to be with… and that man is me. You will not be rid of me so easily.”
***
Anne’s breath caught. Her heart raced and she felt something she had not for a very long time—hope. It had bothered her more than she cared to admit to think that his attraction to her had only been the result of Athena and Minerva’s meddling. But if what he said was true, and she had no reason to think he would lie, then they’d simply placed them in one another’s path and any feelings they had for one another were entirely their own.
“I’ve no wish to be rid of you… but I deserve to be wanted for myself, Lord Strong, rather than as the result of a spell or because of a piece of property that I hold.”
“Shall I tell you all the things about you that I admire? Your courage, your pride—though I daresay it is sometimes an obstacle, as well—your loyalty to your family, your willingness to shirk the yolk of society and strike out on your own to make the life you want rather than the one they would dictate… but it isn’t simply your sterling character that draws me, Anne. You’ve no notion how lovely I find you, of how tempting I find you.”
“You flatter me,” she said, and could feel the blush staining her cheeks. It was ironic and fitting that the most romantic moment of her life would take place in a barn.
He stepped closer, so close now that they were touching. His hands came up to rest on her arms. She could feel the strength in his hands, but also the impossible gentleness as he held her.
“I only speak the truth, Anne. There have been enough lies in your life, already. I will never lie to you. I will never hide anything from you. We will be lovers, Anne… and as soon as I can secure a license, you will be my wife.”
“Generally speaking, a man asks a woman to marry him. He doesn’t simply inform her that it will be,” she said.
He moved closer still. So close that barely a breath separated them. “I’m not taking a chance on the possibility of your saying no.”
“And the fact that I am a bastard makes no difference?” It had bothered her, hearing the truth of her parentage, perhaps more than she was willing to admit, to know that her mother had been a kept woman.
He cocked his head. “If anything, thinking of the apoplectic fit my very proper father will have when he finds out, is something of a bonus. Beyond that, I care not a whit.”
She believed him. Such things clearly did not matter to him. “We have wasted too much time talking.”
It was as if she’d opened a floodgate with those words. He swept in, pressing her back against the barn wall as his mouth settled hungrily over hers. If their other kisses had been an introduction to passion, then this kiss was surely a deluge. Her head swam with it, her blood heated. As his tongue moved over her lips, seeking entrance, she granted it eagerly. But it was the sting of his teeth on her lower lip that prompted a shattered moan from her.
That sound seemed to unleash something inside him. His hands roamed over her, down to cup her bottom. It should have shocked her, but everywhere he touched her felt so amazing, so overwhelming, her mind had simply turned away from any notion of propriety and was instead focused solely on the pleasure he gave. When his hands gripped her behind firmly and lifted her, he pinned her against the wall with the weight of his own body. There was no other recourse but to lift her legs and lock them around him. She could feel the hardness of him pressing against her and the eagerness to feel him inside her, to finally know a man’s touch, penetrated the haze of her mind slightly.
But when he broke the kiss to press his lips to her neck, and then lower, Anne lost all reason. As his mouth closed over one pebbled nipple through the coarse fabric of her gown, she let out a startled gasp. When his teeth scraped her tender flesh, she cried out.
“If I were a better man,” he said breathlessly, “I would wait until we were wed…. I would at the very least wait until we were inside the safety of the house, nestled in your bed. But I am not that man.”
“I don’t want you to be,” she replied fervently. “And I don’t want to wait… not for a week, or a day. Not even for a minute.”
“Undo your laces,” he ordered in a voice that was pitched so low it was practically a growl.
Anne shivered in response even as she reached for her laces and freed the simple knot there. Tugging them free, she felt the bodice of
her gown slip from her shoulders to pool at her waist. Her chemise and stays were worn and old, but the way he looked at her, she might as well have been dressed in the finest of silk.
The rasp of his whiskered chin on her skin as he once again pressed his mouth to her breasts made her tremble. She understood in that moment, with his firm and strong hands on her, and the hardness of him cradled between her thighs. She understood why women fell. In truth, she wasn’t about to fall. She was on the verge of jumping headlong into the abyss and she would do it without a single regret.
He tugged at her skirt, bunching it between them until she could feel the doeskin of his breeches against her thighs. With hands that trembled, she reached between them and freed the buttons at the fall of his breeches. He groaned against her neck, then kissed her in that same spot. She felt his teeth there, biting hard enough to make it sting, hard enough she was sure to leave a mark. Oddly, that thought aroused her even more.
“I can’t wait, Anne,” he said breathlessly.
She had no idea what he truly meant by that, but then she felt his hand on her thigh, moving between them, and then he touched her. His fingers moved over her, parting the folds of her sex. And then he slipped them fully inside her, touching the most tender part of her. She didn’t gasp or cry out. She had no voice at all. Her mouth opened on a soundless cry as the pleasure coalesced inside her. Closing her eyes, she focused only on the sensation he was creating, the perfect tension that coiled within her. Every stroke of his fingers drew it tighter, until her entire body quivered with it. She could feel the quaking of muscles in her thighs and her belly. But even as he stroked that tiny bud, he slipped one finger deep inside her, stroking and filling her in a way that she’d never imagined. It was, at the same time, far too much and not nearly enough. But it did push her over that precipice. The tension inside her released so suddenly, her body thrumming with it, as the pleasure overtook her.
Before she could even regain her breath, he removed his hand, and she could feel the hardness of his shaft against her. He pressed against her, parting the slick folds he’d just caressed. It was a foreign sensation, but not unpleasant. But as he pressed deeper, stretching the tender flesh, she felt her panic rise.
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